


M for Marriage, H for Holmes

by therunawaypen



Series: Sherlock Tumblr Prompt Fills [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Children, Divorce, F/M, Gen, Mycroft Being Mycroft, failing marriage, pre-John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therunawaypen/pseuds/therunawaypen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg isn't happy living in a marriage with an unfaithful Sally. But divorce isn't an option when she will most likely take custody of their boys.</p><p>Then the Holmes brothers got involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	M for Marriage, H for Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> "Hey. I have a Sherlock prompt. Greg’s failing marriage is with Sally Donovan. She sleeps around behind his back but there’s nothing he can do because if he leaves her she’ll take their kids. So he just lets her do what she wants. How it ends is up to you! :)" -R

Greg Lestrade was not having a good day. Granted, he hadn’t been having a very good week, having to chase a serial murderer (weren’t all his cases like that?) and keep up with all his other cases.

And it didn’t help that Sherlock Holmes kept popping up at their crime scenes, trying to look at their evidence and solve their cases for them (not that Greg would mind all that much, but there were legal issues). And of course, the arrogant genius was right more often than not, a fact that grated against every last nerve his team had.

But of course, the finishing blow for Greg was when Sherlock looked him over once and blithely commented, “You do realize your wife is having an affair again, yes? Surely you aren’t that stupid.”

It had taken every iota of the DI’s will power not to react in anyway. He wouldn’t flinch. He wouldn’t respond to Sherlock’s comment.

And he wouldn’t look at Sally.

Greg wasn’t an idiot, regardless of what Sherlock thought, of course he knew Sally had been unfaithful. He didn’t miss the sly looks she’d share with some of their coworkers, he didn’t miss the nights when she’d come home late and smelling like another man’s aftershave. He didn’t miss the fact that when he told her that he loved her, her responses were hallow and halfhearted.

But he never said anything.

If it had just been him and Sally in the picture, he would have left at the first sign of infidelity. But it wasn’t just him and Sally. Greg thought back to the innocent faces waiting for them both in their modest home, their sons.

He knew that if he tried to leave the marriage, Sally would get custody. What judge wouldn’t grant custody to a child’s mother, especially when the father worked as much as he did? Sally knew that just as well as Greg did.

So he never said anything.

Of course, Sherlock couldn’t take a hint sometimes (ever, really). The next moment they were alone, he brought up the subject again, “I never imagined you to be the type to be so easily cuckolded so easily, or the type to not do anything about it. So she must have something to keep you in the marriage…” He paused, staring at Greg for a long while. Then his eyes widened as they often did when he discovered something new, “Children! Why Lestrade, you never mentioned children before.”

“Sherlock.” Greg sighed, looking at Sherlock. It was painful enough to deal with without Sherlock rubbing salt in the wounds, “You might be brilliant, but you don’t know everything. Please, just drop it.”

Luckily, Sherlock was distracted by a new body in the morgue. And, while Lestrade knew he’d had to deal with it later, at the moment, he just wanted to go home.

As he walked out to his car, he knew something was off. Because, first and foremost, his car was not in the spot where he parked it. Instead, there was a black car with tinted windows in the spot where his car should have been. The second thing was that his phone rang, with only the words NUMBER WITHHELD showing up on his screen.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade.” Greg answered, professional to a fault.

_“Get in the car, Detective Inspector.”_

Greg stopped, looking at the car again. The driver had gotten out and was now holding the back door open.

“Who is this?” He demanded. Like hell he was going to get into a strange car because some mysterious voice told him to.

The voice ignored his question _, “Do you see the camera watching street?”_

He did, the camera was perched on the corner of the street, so it had a perfect view of him and the mysterious car. Or rather, it did. It was now moving away, pointedly facing in the other direction.

_“Again, get in the car.”_

Whoever this person was, they had control of the CCTV cameras, which was terrifying in its own right. But finding himself in the backseat of a mysterious car that was leading him to who knew where…Greg thought he might have a heart attack. For all he knew, he could be being led to an execution.

So when he was led into a posh looking restaurant, he was thoroughly confused.

There was a man sitting at a table in a secluded corner of the restaurant, enjoying a meal that probably cost more than Greg’s monthly salary. His suit looked freshly pressed, and there was an umbrella tucked neatly beside the chair.

“Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade.” The man nodded, “Forgive me for eating while I work, I’m sure you understand the demands of a busy job. Please, have a seat. I’m sure you would enjoy a meal as lovely as this.” He gestured to the chair across from him.

Greg frowned, “I’m sorry; who did you say you were again?”

“I never said.” The man smirked, taking a sip of red wine, “Now, sit, please.”

“No…I don’t think I will.” Greg shook his head, “What’s this all about then?”

“Straight to the point, as always.”  The man dabbed his lips with his napkin before setting it down, “We have a mutual acquaintance: Sherlock Holmes. I want you to tell me what you know of him.”

“Sherlock…” He blinked, shaking his head, “And who are you to Sherlock?”

The man chuckled, cutting a small piece of foie gras, “I’m the closest thing he has to a friend.”

“Somehow I seriously doubt that…” Greg shook his head. This was all getting out of hand…

“No doubt Sherlock would refer to me as his arch enemy.” The man looked amused, “He can be a bit dramatic when the mood suits him.”

Greg just nodded, deciding against commenting about the man’s own taste in theatrics. He just wanted to get out of there and head home to his sons…

“But, the point.” The man continued, “You see…I worry about Sherlock. Constantly.” He took another sip of wine.

“And what the hell would that have to do with me?” Greg was getting annoyed now. He’d have to speak to Sherlock about his taste in friends once this was over.

“Quite simple, I’d like you to keep an eye on him.” The man took a bite of his food, chewing slowly before speaking, “And report back to me on what you see.”

Greg just nodded again, “Right…can I go home now?”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Of course I won’t do it.” Greg rolled his eyes, “I have no idea who you are or what your interest in Sherlock is. I’m not going to just give you information about him.”

“Not even in exchange for assistance in gaining custody of your sons when you leave your faithless wife?”

The DI froze. Did _everyone_ know about his marital problems? “How the _hell_ do you know about my boys?” He hissed.

The man withdrew a small notebook, flipping it open to a marked page, “Roger, age 6, fond of playing rugby and football, but could stand to focus more on his studies. And Aaron, age 3, a bit on the shy side, but loves to draw.”

“Are you _watching us?_ ” Greg stiffened at the thought of someone watching his sons, “You stay the _hell_ away from my sons!” He clenched his fists, “My problems are my own. And if you’re so good at watching people, why don’t you watch Sherlock on your own? Or better yet, talk to him your bloody self.” He hissed, turning red with anger, “Take me home. Now.”

The man watched him, like he was curious and amused by the spectacle, “Very well. The car will return you it picked you up. It was lovely speaking with you, Detective Inspector.”

Greg didn’t answer; he was shaking with anger at what had just transpired. What the hell _had_ happened? Did he just anger a mafia don? A corrupt politician? Was there going to be a hit on his head? Were his sons in danger because he lost his temper?

He couldn’t relax the entire time he drove to his house. He felt sick to his stomach with fear.

It was only when he opened the door to his home that he was able to relax slightly. Roger and Aaron were watching a movie on the couch while the nanny was cleaning up what must have been dinner. Sally, he noted, wasn’t home.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Claire.” He smiled softly, grabbing a few extra bills, “Thank you for your time. I hope the boys didn’t give you too much trouble.”

Claire smiled, “Not at all, Mr. Lestrade. And your boss already came by the house to inform me that you would be late tonight.”

Greg blinked, “My boss?” He couldn’t imagine _anyone_ at work stopping by his house for any reason

The nanny nodded, “He left something for you on the table.”

He quickly thanked her and sent her on her way, his mind focused on what could possibly be on the table. His boys were so engrossed in the movie, they didn’t notice his nerves. With a shaky breath, Greg picked up the envelope that was on the table.

His name was written on it in elegant script. Inside was a plain white card, with the same script inside.

_Don’t worry about your wife, Gregory. Consider it done. ~MH_


End file.
